


Homes Out of Human Beings

by sweetbubba



Category: South Park
Genre: Fluff, M/M, god i miss young love, just craving this right now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 03:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbubba/pseuds/sweetbubba
Summary: It's June in South Park and a heatwave hits.





	1. It's you

* * *

 

 

_Tweek's Point of View_

 

 **My** mind is always buzzing, I can never sit still and quietness irks me... but here in this moment with my head resting on your chest and the fan on low - with a heatwave hitting the town suddenly and us curled up in your sheets in nothing but boxers - I never thought I'd find such serenity. 

How is it that your arms lazily draped around me stopped the tremors and shakes? Why is the rhythm of your heart, as heavy and stuttering as it is, the best thing I've ever heard? What makes you so special, with your tired eyes and nasally voice? 

Maybe it's the fact that you could care less about most things, but seem to give a shit about me. Maybe it's the way you don't let things phase you and how your calm, collected nature makes me feel like things will be okay; or the way you've always fit so perfectly with me, every crevice of your body lining up with all of mine...

Through the sun blaring from your open window, I peak a look up at your face to admire the drool dribbling down your chin and I realize just how made for one another we are - I bring some excitement to your life, you anchor me down when things get rough - like yin and yang, in perfect balance with each other; I never had to make myself at home beside you, you were born to be my home.

No one has to tell me this will last forever, inside of this bedroom time and space do not exist and we never really _have_ to worry about the next hour, the next day or the next lifetime; I could die right now and strangely enough, I'd be content because I would've died _experiencing_ something this extraordinary - I'd die knowing I had the chance to experience you.

I lean up and kiss the corner of your mouth, and you smile softly in your sleep. 

_Yea,_

I grin and bury my face in your neck.

_I'm definitely home._


	2. I promise I'm trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They call me misanthropic, nihilistic even- but how could they say that when they see how I look at you?"

 

 

Craig's Point of View:  
  
  
  
 **This** heatwave is going to kill us. After all of the extremely abnormal and horrendous things that have happened here, you'd think they'd notice by now when something's not right; but this _is_ South Park, I suppose. Everyone here voluntarily lives with their heads up their own asses, then they act surprised when bad shit arises. Sometimes I swear the only one who truly gets it is Kenny, who surprisingly enough has become our town's very own 'end is nigh' teenage homeless. If he's not in school, and he's rarely in school, he's huddled in the alley next to City Wok barricaded under blankets and boxes, or he's taking a few hits of acid and telling the masses about life after death. He even has a few multiverse theories that have some gumption, but it's based around this whole insane story that he's 'immortal' and has died multiple times. 

It's sad really, the only one who seems to bother with him these days is Butters- and occasionally me, when I'm itching to get high or need someone to complain to about... I don't know, life? I'm not sure if Butters believes him, but any time someone rags on Kenny at school or throws shit at him on the streets he's right there at his defense. If you ask me, the kid's either lovestruck or he's got a heart of gold; but this is South Park, it'd take a miracle for me to believe anyone here is capable of the latter. Tweek, however...

I snap out of my trance and take a glance next to me; sitting on the bench is my schizophrenic boyfriend chattering away about a thriving conspiracy he's got going on, possibly about the lunch lady's slowly decreasing his food intake to make sure he withers away to nothing or going into anemic shock, and I can't help but notice how throughout the years the twitching has depleted and he's no longer as pale. It takes me back to when we were thirteen; his father had just had his first heart attack and his mother was a catatonic mess. It was as if she had been set to autopilot, somehow worse than she already was, and she carried herself like the undead- bags under her eyes, coffee mug clutched so tightly in her hand, as if it were her only solace or safety net. She would stand in the kitchen and stare out the window for hours, barely acknowledging Tweek, and Tweek... He was suffering from his own brand of shock. He slipped into this stage of life where he wouldn't leave his house, agoraphobia they called it. He'd hide up in his bed, buried under blankets and muttering to himself in the dark while dirty dishes and clothes piled up all over his room. Being young and having anti-social personality disorder, I couldn't bring myself to understand at first; I'd go to his house, try to shake him out of bed, ask if he'd just like to go for a walk or hang out with our friends and he'd babble incoherent words and push me away until I got pissed enough and left. He was like that for weeks while his father was in the hospital... in fact, if it wasn't for Kenny and Butters I would've never known what was wrong with him or how to stop it. 

Kenny explained that he was going through something life changing, that an already overly paranoid boy was starting to realize that death is very much apart of life; he told me the best way I could comfort him was to reassure him as much as possible, and encourage him to make steps each day. 

When I went to talk to Tweek, he opened up to me about how scared he was of his dad dying, and him dying someday; he knew that the heart attack was caused by the Tweak's special brand of coffee, and he was scared that he was so hooked that there was no helping him. I'd held him, for the first time in a long time feeling like my heart was in my throat, and silently made the decision to help ween him off the stuff. It took a while, what he went through (which I now know was withdrawals) was painful for the both of us, but after another month his father had come home and things had felt easier or more complete for him. Eventually the coffee habit was a distant memory, and even though he still shakes from time to time and he still has his fears, he's come a long away.

I gaze at him for a bit, noticing how he fiddles with his shirt sleeves and picks at his nails occasionally, and I manage a small smile. 

"Tweek?"

"Y-yes Craig?" he asks skeptically, looking up at me with those muddy green eyes, and I wrap my arm around him, placing a soft kiss to his temple. The world goes quiet, and in this moment it's just us- sitting on a park bench in the middle of a vast galaxy. He sighs contently and I rest my head on his, for once looking up at the sun and the sky and not having a single bad thought.

I've been called a lot of things; I've been labelled as misanthropic and nihilistic, anti-social and monotone... but no one could ever understand the purpose and warmth Tweek Tweak has brought into my life. I'm almost glad they don't. If they had anything like I had, they'd ruin that too. 

What we have keeps me going everyday, his presence, his life- even though he can be stubborn, and frustrating, and even irritating- makes mine so much more worth living. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is just, very small and very sweet- after all, it's not the size that matters but that amount of love that goes into it. I hope you enjoyed this!


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